Far from the Fortress of the Sky, in another land, Alaën was struggling to escape this gilded cage that had held him captive for nearly three and a half years. Since losing his memory completely, not a single day had felt the same. He walked the mansion where he was confined every day and now knew it by heart. From room to room, he had discovered a new world each time. From the third floor down to the basement, a dozen doors lined the hallways, each concealing a mystery.
The second room from the right on the second floor had belonged to a duchess who had been locked away against her will. Her diary, with its dog-eared and yellowed pages, sat prominently on the dressing table. That was how he had come to know the past of this woman and of the mansion.
On the third floor were the former maids' quarters. All sorts of stories had unfolded there. For example, the suicide of one of the late duchess's maids. She was found hanging from the chandelier. A mysterious death. She haunted the place in search of the culprit.
Alaën had been lucky enough to run into her. Since he wasn't in human form, he had nothing to fear and had befriended her. She had told him that a suspicious shadow had been lurking around the manor for months. Alaën had thanked her, and, knowing that this damned thing had returned to taunt him every night, had continued on his way. Several times he had wondered about her words. Something about a bet and someone being abandoned—unfortunately, he didn't understand a single word of it.
But what worried him most was the person he had seen in his vision. He couldn't stop thinking about him. He had sensed it—this was the man who was supposed to save him. How was he? What was he doing? His intuition told him he wasn't in danger, but he was so worried. What if he never came, what if he had been abandoned? He didn't know what to do. This person occupied all his thoughts. The only escape he'd had was to find a way to flee this cursed mansion.
The times he'd tried to get out, he'd been blocked by a barrier so powerful that his weak magic could do little against it. On his tenth attempt, just as he'd managed to break through the first barrier, he'd been caught by a red-faced partridge. And he'd been pushed back into a room in the basement, where no light filtered in at all. "It's a punishment," she had told him. Why did this bird of prey hold a grudge against him? He could sense a glimmer of jealousy every time a sentence came out of her mouth. But what was the reason? And besides, how could he know with his repeated memory lapses? He had been locked up for several weeks, unable to do much about it.
Then, one day, something changed; his furry ears had heard an explosion and a shrill scream. He rushed toward the sound and stopped, speechless, at the sight before him. In front of him, a woman with bird-like claws lay wounded in the middle of the hall. All around, stones from the wall lay shattered on the floor, having destroyed part of the grand staircase and the massive bookcases.
Alaën recognized the partridge and rejoiced. This was his chance. But who could have caused the destruction of the barriers surrounding the manor? No time to think; he leaped toward the opening and slipped through it, leaving his captor behind. She screamed at him:
"He won't make it! Never! And you! Fox, you're staying here!"
But he was already far too far away to hear the end of her screams.
Alaën ran, so fast, leaving that cursed manor behind him. The wind brushed against his fur, and a feeling of freedom washed over him. But soon, a vision appeared before him, and oh, what a horror—it made his blood run cold. He saw that person with ebony hair enter a room. Then he saw him go into a dark forest, walking slowly, looking all around him before disappearing. The image of a red wedding garment, worn by that man and himself. It made him uneasy, and the dread he had felt soon took hold. Then nothing, the vision had faded. As if something had happened to him.
Alaën could already see him lying dead on the ground, blood flowing from his chest and stomach. Alaën could do nothing, and this saddened him deeply. This person was strong; he must have a plan. He had to trust the one he likely knew. He hoped and prayed. "May your trials pass without a hitch…"
With a heavy heart, he continued on his way for three days without stopping. His steps led him to a hidden clearing. The leaves of the trees and bushes parted to make way for him. A magic he sensed as his own gently caressed his back and ears. It tickled him. He felt so good.
In the middle of this clearing, a stone and wood pavilion stood proudly. His heart and his steps grew lighter; the sadness he had felt vanished. Exhausted, he settled into the large armchair in the living room. He really liked the place; a warm and welcoming atmosphere surrounded him. He closed his eyes. He would go to the village tomorrow.
***
Damien had been in the Sky Fortress for several days now, at the invitation of the great mage Mélia. He had to admit to himself that this atmosphere of doing nothing, of living in the moment, put him in a pleasant state of mind. The only thing he missed was his wizard with the magnificent curly brown hair. He would have liked to leave as soon as possible, but without information or the completion of his wager, there was nothing he could do. Yet, the intention was very much there.
During his stay, he had seen very little of Mélia. She was consumed by her duties as a master mage. Which suited him just fine. He occupied the fortress's library lounge so much that, according to rumors, he was dubbed a squatter.
There, they found a haven of peace, and immersed in reading these books, they managed to forget their sadness at not having Alaën by their side. Lost in thought, they didn't hear the study door open.
Step by step, the figure approached and sat down next to the hunter. The sofa cushion sagged under the weight, which snapped Damien out of his reverie.
"I see Your Highness has deigned to let me know of your presence," Damien began sarcastically.
"Don't be mean, Damien. Actually, while you were taking it easy, I prepared a little something that I hope will satisfy you," replied Mélia.
Rolling his eyes, Damien stood up and sat down across from his companion.
"Tell me everything."
"I have some information regarding Alaën's whereabouts. I won't say any more, but know that he is safe. The time has come to keep your promise."
Damien's face darkened for a moment before returning to normal. Then he continued:
"Alright, what do I need to do? The sooner you tell me, the sooner I can leave this place that's making me forget my mission."
"What an impatient man you are," sighed his interlocutor, before continuing, "Follow me."
Mélia stood up and left the room, followed closely by Damien. The Leader of the Sky and the hunter arrived in front of a massive red door. Damien's intuition stirred. If he passed through that entrance, he sensed he would face things worse than he had ever imagined. But for Alaën, he could do anything. So he opened it. Casting one last glance at the high priestess, Mélia let out a long sigh before turning away. "Alaën, you've found a good person."
***
When the door slammed shut behind Damien, he found himself facing a vast emptiness. Nothing and no one was there, like a place left abandoned. Damien felt his way forward; he didn't know how long he'd been in that dim light. Until a thick fog emerged. His eyes adjusted to the darkness, but nothing seemed to be around him; everything seemed deserted.
Lost in the mist, the hunter caught sight of the back of someone he knew all too well. Curly hair, her characteristic blue huafu, and as soon as she turned around, the smile he loved so much. His steps quickened, without him even realizing it. Then, arriving near him, he reached out, found himself wearing a crimson wedding garment, moving forward with no other purpose, Alaën by his side. Until the moment when a horrifying scene froze him in place. His beloved, in a blood-red dress, lying on the ground, like a hunted bird. A sword plunged into her heart. His sword.
Damien woke with a start. He was in a room he knew well. Alaën was quietly watching over him.
"Did you have a nightmare?" he asked, his brows furrowed with concern.
It took Damien a moment before he replied in a soft voice:
"Yes. What happened?" he replied with a smile, putting his troubles behind him.
"Oh, nothing at all. You just fell asleep like a log after coming back from the hunt."
"I remember now. I don't know why, but all the traps were full. You didn't do that, did you?" he asked with a smile.
Alaën rolled his eyes.
"What else? Just because I can use magic doesn't mean—he emphasized the word 'mean'—I'd help you with your hunts."
Damien gave him a knowing smirk, as if to say, "See? I knew it."
"Yeah, okay, fine! Winter is much harsher than in previous years. And besides, this way, we can go somewhere else for a few weeks. To your brother's place, for example."
"You're absolutely right," Damien replied, ruffling his hair. "But at that idiot's place? Definitely not."
"Oh, come on, I know that even though you call him an idiot, you care about him," Alaën finished, shrugging before getting up and heading toward the bookshelf.
It wasn't until their conversation ended that Damien sensed something was wrong. The room he was in vaguely reminded him of his living room, but even though he'd told Alaën about it, the fact that he was there seemed unbelievable. Especially since he'd never brought him there in human form.
Alaën had told him that he'd saved him when he was in fox form to heal him.
If this scene was real, then he wanted so badly to stay there. So he sank a little deeper into his desire to remain. Even if, in the end, he had to put an end to it.
Over the next few days, he stayed by his beloved's side. They traveled to the Kingdom of Dawn to see Lucien, before heading toward the Kingdom of Heaven.
Along the way, they crossed paths with several groups fleeing the famine in the Vast Sea region. They fought off a few starving bandits before escaping them. Upon reaching the shores of the Vast Sea, they rested in the city of Océane and had to stay there for several days. Alaën had fallen ill. A burning fever had struck him when he arrived at the inn. Alaën had told him it was just a minor cold, but the next day, the fever still hadn't subsided. These past few weeks had seemed magical to him, even though, deep down, he knew it was all a deception. To put an end to this dream, he decided to leave this fake Alaën behind. He planned to leave that very evening.
When Alaën fell asleep, Damien untangled the fake wizard's fingers from his sweater and walked away. But before he could take another step, he stopped—someone was holding the back of his shirt. Damien didn't turn around and waited for Alaën to speak, which didn't take long.
"Why do you want to leave me? Aren't we happy like this?"
Although his lips were trembling, Damien said nothing. Alaën had fallen silent too. Before the silence dragged on, the hunter declared:
"I hoped for too much. I'm not leaving you, but you're not him. Don't worry, I'm coming to get you. You're always in my thoughts. All the time. Thank you for giving me such a sweet dream."
The room faded away, and Damien found himself in a heavy silence.
In a hall, a man sat on a throne with bright red cushions, a glass in his hand. Before him stood people dressed in finery, and an orchestra performed on stage. A thought came to him first: my life is so boring. I have everything I need—gold, silver, men and women in abundance—but I no longer find any pleasure. What, then, am I missing?
Setting down his wine glass with a sharp clink, he left the room without looking back. In the hallways, where he used to admire everything in his path—from porcelain statues to foreign tapestries—nothing satisfied him anymore. Only one thought remained: what am I missing?
I feel like I'm forgetting something, he thought aloud. He didn't see the person coming toward him. He bumped into him without paying any attention. An angry voice snapped him out of his thoughts:
"Yes, an apology. I didn't know that, even as a prince, you were exempt from that."
The man in front of him had curly hair and dark skin and was staring at him with disdain. It was one of the first times he had been looked at not with reverence, but with deep contempt.
"Hello, are you out of it? I'm waiting for an apology, Your Majesty. Do you get it?"
"Well, I'm sorry," snapped Damien, who was beginning to be exasperated by this person's insolence. Omitting the fact that it was his own fault.
"Politeness is going out of style in royalty," the brunette lamented, before walking away without a word.
Snorting, Damien walked off in a huff. Me? Apologize? In his dreams!
The prince later learned the name of that unpleasant character. Alaën, he was told, the castle's chief mage. He thought back to that day, when he had bumped into him without apologizing. What an idiot he was! He had felt foolish afterward; it was clearly his fault. The more he learned about Alaën, the more intrigued he became by him. He was one of the youngest master wizards of his generation; naturally cheerful, he was loved wherever he went, from the cooks to the gardener. He helped everyone, regardless of status.
So it was quite a novelty for the people at the castle to see him so exasperated that his characteristic smile had vanished.
Damien had wanted to apologize in the weeks that followed, but his misplaced princely pride had stopped him. No one had the right to speak to him in that tone. Not even a mage with a sunny smile. And even though he had begun to like him. The look the wizard gave him every time he spotted him was so interesting that he always tried to run into him.
Every time, Damien would walk away laughing, while Alaën found it not amusing at all. In fact, he was starting to get fed up with it. One day, he stopped him in the hallways and voiced his grievances.
"What do you want from me, for once? I've had more than enough of seeing your annoying face. You're worse than a cockroach. Does that amuse you?" he asked when he saw the mischievous smile on his interlocutor's face.
"Dear wizard, I'm pleasantly surprised by that comparison—amusing, to say the least. But you see, the 'cockroach' that I am, as you put it, finds you much more interesting. Thanks to you, I've finally discovered what I was missing. So to speak, you make this life less boring."
"I'm delighted to hear that," Alaën replied sarcastically. "I hope I never see you again."
"Unfortunately, I think you'll be seeing me for the rest of your life, clinging to your coattails," he finished with a laugh before leaving, leaving the poor mage annoyed.
But unbeknownst to Damien, a small smile had appeared on the mage's lips. What a strange character, he chuckled before realizing it and stopping short.
Damien remembered now; he was still trapped in an illusion, one that was showing him another side of his Alaën. Perhaps this was happening in an alternate universe. It seemed pleasant to him. But he had to find his real wizard before it was too late. Following the thread of his thoughts, the illusion abruptly ended, and he found himself standing before the door through which he had entered. It opened, revealing Mélia, the great sage of the Kingdom of Heaven.
"Well, dear friend, I see you've succeeded," they began. "And here I was thinking that a life with this fake Alaën, and all the gold and silver, would satisfy you," they finished with a laugh.
"If you think you're funny, know that you're not funny at all," replied the mocking hunter. "My mission is over, I think."
"But of course," said the hunter, his blue eyes sparkling. "However, you're going to have to put up with me for the rest of your adventure."
Damien pinched his lion's mane before exclaiming with amusement.
— Have mercy!
***
Damien and Mélia had set out on the road. Thanks to the information from the high priestess, they headed toward the Far North, to the Kingdom of Snow. Their first stop was the home of Blaire and Isabeau. It had been over three years since Damien had seen them, and it was well worth the wait. When they arrived near the town of Belle Saison, they were stopped by the gate guards.
"Your papers."
At first surprised, Damien looked at Mélia, who nodded before whispering to him, "Go ahead, we'll ask your friends." It had been a long time since anyone had demanded them. He handed them over under the watchful gaze of the sentinel, who snatched them before returning them. Then it was the turn of the leader of the Sky. The two guards eyed them before one of them shook his head, and the other returned the documents.
"You may enter."
The two companions didn't need to be told twice. The inside of the city seemed perfectly normal to him, so the hunter walked on as if nothing had happened, followed by Mélia. The mage sent a telepathic message: Someone's following us.
Damien nodded discreetly before asking a young boy where the Bleu Inn was located. Lucien had checked in on the couple in his brother's place and had sent a letter to Damien with the information.
After their return, Isabeau and Blaire had moved and settled a few meters further into the town of Belle Saison. They had opened this inn, and since then, the couple had been living off the income.
The young boy pointed in a certain direction. They came to a small building with blue shutters. At the door of the inn stood a little girl with blonde hair, watching them curiously.
Mélia walked up to the child and knelt down.
"Hello, we're friends of your mom. Would you mind telling her we're here?"
The girl nodded blankly before rushing inside. She returned accompanied by a woman with her hair tied in a braid. The little girl hid behind her mother's skirt and gazed, stars in her eyes, at this beautiful person with strange horns.
"Well, look who it is—Damien! How are you?" she asked before exclaiming:
"Honey! Damien's here! Come on, come on, you and your friend, come inside. Carole, are you going to get your dad? He must be cooking dinner. Hurry, hurry, my little one."
Carole let go of her mother's skirt and scampered inside for the second time. Isabeau took Damien by the arm and cheerfully led him into the house. Mélia followed them without a word. This family seemed very close-knit. I wonder what her husband is like—is he as outgoing as his wife?
When the door was closed, Isabeau let go of Damien's hand and apologized.
"Sorry for being so familiar. But I'd rather no one suspect anything. Okay," she said, hands on her hips, "from now on, you're one of my distant cousins, Damien." "And you, hmm, her friend," she finished with a meaningful wink. "Don't look at me like that," she said, shrugging. "I know it's Alaën you love." Turning to Mélia, she asked, "Which pronoun would you prefer I use? To make things simpler."
"Whatever you prefer, but just in case, I prefer both," replied the mage. "Or call me Mélia, that's fine," she finished with a smile. "It's very kind of you to ask."
"No problem, no problem. Blaire, look who's here?"
A well-built man with golden hair entered the room before exclaiming:
— Damien! It's been a long time—how are you?
— Well, well, look who's changed! Very well, as you can see. Well, as well as I can be. We were just looking for a room to stay in. Well, even though we're acquaintances, I'd still be happy to pay.
"Don't worry, Damien, your brother already took care of it when he gave us his letter."
The hunter thought, what an idiot—that's not how he's going to redeem himself.
Once they were settled in, they went down to the inn's private dining room. During dinner, Mélia asked a few questions before broaching the main subject.
"Forgive me for bringing this up at the table, but what's going on here? It's as if the town were dead, despite the general atmosphere."
"We got stopped at the entrance. They asked for our IDs—is that new?" Damien asked, curious.
Blaire glanced at his wife, then said:
"You see, nasty rumors are starting to spread beyond the Kingdom of Snow. Apparently, a witch is tormenting the region. Several incidents have been reported. Since the border is just a few meters from here, the King of Snow's army has set up camp in Belle Saison."
"But it's nothing serious," Isabeau continued. "It's just that travelers are suspected of all sorts of things. That's also why I've claimed you as my cousin."
"Anyway, I gather you're in a hurry, so I don't think they'd stop you. Especially since you have your papers with you."
Once the meal was over, they went to rest. A big day awaited them tomorrow.